


Nothing Like A Well-dressed Man

by Gemenied



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance, daftness, self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemenied/pseuds/Gemenied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Royal wedding has consequences for all Met officers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like A Well-dressed Man

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If only I owned them, then this would happen just to entertain me.
> 
> Warnings: Very yummy Boyd, very sexay Grace...daftness...and sap.

** Nothing Like A Well-dressed Man **

As soon as the message appeared in the inbox of the Met's intranet, she knew they were heading for trouble. If one wanted to argue, it was going into disaster with their eyes wide open.

Of course, Boyd was far from being the only officer in the Met and there'd probably be grumbles from every plain clothes man in the entire city of London, but Grace wondered if Personnel actually knew what they were getting themselves into.

Eve, obviously having received the same email and entertaining the same thoughts, called through the office phone and invited her to come and hide out in the lab. It was a little childish, but Grace knew she'd be bearing the brunt of it in any case, so a little bit of procrastination was in order.

So, they were sitting perched on lab stools, Grace with a thermos mug of tea (coffee wasn't that healthy, really) and Eve near the vent, puffing on a cigarette.

"How long do you think until he's read it?"

Grace shrugged. "We'll hear it."

"Do you think he'll do it in the end or really find an excuse?" They didn't need to elaborate much to both understand what Eve meant. Knowing the man, he'd raise hell and high water to avoid the situation.

Grinning mischievously, Grace shrugged again. "It will depend."

"On what?"

"Incentive and embarrassment."

"And you'll provide the incentive?"

The sip of tea stemmed just as much from the wish to drink as well as hiding her spreading grin. "Only if I'm feeling generous, Eve. Only then."

Before Eve could dig deeper on the subject - she rarely had Grace being this open about her personal relationship with Boyd, after all - the man in question could easily be heard. From the echo clinging to his voice, though, he was nowhere near the lab.

"GRACE!"

"Uhoh, he does sound pissed."

Her expression equalling 'duh', Grace slid of the lab stool and unhurriedly wandered over to the door. "I guess I should go and find out what has him so worked up, don't you think?"

Once the door had closed behind the profiler, Eve only snickered. Too bad there wasn't a camera taping this one.

* * *

Inside Boyd's office, Grace acted relaxed, leaning against the door frame. In a situation like this, every other person would have found themselves already a head shorter, but Grace wasn't any other person. In fact, she was fairly sure she could get away with quite a lot in this specific case.

"You shouted? Where's the fire?"

Boyd glowered in reply. "Did you read that?"

Slowly walking to the sofa, she took her time to sit and settle herself. Then she took another sip of her tea. Of course he noticed it, also recognised her action for what it was.

"Grace?" It was a warning, though for what exactly wasn't entirely clear.

"Did I read what, Boyd?"

"You bloody well know what, Grace! Not only do we have to work on that day, all day, I might add, when everybody and their uncle gets a holiday, but then we can't even finish the day the way we want and have to do THAT?" The last word, spoken in capital letters, came out like an angrily waving flag.

A red flag at that.

"Personnel thinks it's appropriate for the occasion." She paused for a moment. "And this has to be the first time I hear you complaining about having a work day, Boyd. You were the one who wanted to work on Christmas last year, remember? Yet now you are bothered?"

"It's not the same thing."

"I see."

He fell against the back of his chair with a thud and an audible groan. "Have a little empathy here, will you, Grace?"

"About what, exactly? I have to work that day too and I have been 'invited' to the festivities as well. We are in the same boat."

His eyes narrowed and he jumped up from his chair to march through the room. Coming to a stop right before her position on the sofa, he glared down from a considerable height difference. Naturally, it didn't faze Grace, who just gave him an innocent smile. Reaching out, she wordlessly asked him to pull her up, the effort quite naturally bringing her flush against his chest.

The height difference had lessened, but she still had to look up, and whether it was for over exaggerated show effect or real seduction, she blinked at him through lowered eye lashes. "Besides,..." Her voice dropped as low as possible - clearly fully intended seduction then - "...Think of what the sight of you will do to me."

Before he could react and cash in an advance on that promise, she was gone, but not without brushing rather purposefully against him.

Thank God the windows of his office were relatively high in the wall.

* * *

The Met was going down the three monkey route when it came to personal relationships amongst the staff. They were a little more alert when the relationship happened within a team, but really, who would even dare thinking on interfering with the two of them?

It was either death by shouting or death by psychological analysis, and if over 95% of Met officers were honest, they preferred the shouted one. It was faster. And less painful.

That meant nobody asked questions and as long as there was no official announcement, nobody knew anything. At least officially. In silent agreement, though, in search for one, the other's phone number was always the second on speed dial.

That said, it would have come as no surprise - and for this scene alone, Eve would have killed for a camera secretly installed - that Grace was carefully perched on the bed, watching another stage of the disaster unfolding. The doors to his wardrobe were wide open, which considering that this was about one set of clothes that was carefully hung up in a plastic bag, was a little ridiculous.

However, this entire moment was about Boyd showing off how annoyed he was and avoiding the ugly truth.

"That thing should be banned as a device of torture!" he announced grumpily, rummaging through the clothes. Deliberately, and without any subtlety, he searched on the wrong side of his closet.

From her spot, Grace leaned against the head board and said nothing. With her facial expression, it was entirely unnecessary. "You're dawdling, Boyd," she finally ventured.

He didn't answer, only intensified his hectic search for nothing.

With a light chuckle, she shook her head. "You're worse than a woman before a first date."

Within seconds he once again towered over her. It was a habit he couldn't seem to break, even though they both knew that apart from a certain - intimate - situation, it was worth bollocks.

"Are you calling me...unmanly?" he asked speculatively.

She waited for a moment, until he effectively leaned over her, trapping her against the headboard. Her hands brushed from his shoulders over his biceps and chest further down. Sidestepping more 'precarious' areas, she gave him an innocent smile. "I wouldn't dream of it. I have first hand evidence of your...manliness."

"That's more like it," he quipped, before turning back towards the closet. "That thing is still a pain in the arse, though."

"Oh come on, just get over with it, Boyd!"

Giving her an exasperated sigh, Boyd groaned. "Do you know when I last wore that thing?"

Now chuckling loudly, Grace got up from her comfortable position and plucked the hanger deftly from the closet. It was fairly heavy, she had to admit, and in secret thanked whatever holy being was listening that she wouldn't be submitted to anything like that. Heels and evening wardrobe were uncomfortable enough. As she carefully opened the zip on the plastic cover, she said, "Knowing you, I'd say you haven't worn this since your official investiture ceremony. That's...about 13 years now."

Even though she had, subconsciously, known that this was an aspect of the entire situation, only now - saying the words - it hit her. "Oh my," she breathed.

"What?"

Oh shit.

"That's quite a while."

There was absolutely no way out of it.

"Grace?"

No. Really no way out of it.

The only option was to say it loud. And quickly.

And then run.

"Uhm..."

"Grace?"

Only, despite the last 13 years, he ran still a damn sight faster than her. And it was his house.

She gave him a shaky smile. "Uhm..."

"Grace?"

"Yes?"

"I swear..."

"How fast do you think the tailor could make you a new uniform? Because I don't think letting the seams out will quite do the trick."

She squeezed her eyes shut and unconsciously even pulled her head between her shoulders trying to become as small as possible.

The reaction, however, didn't come.

After what seemed like an eternity, she dared to open her eyes again.

She was still alive. And so was he.

In fact, he looked...like a little boy who's just realized he's broken his favourite toy.

"Are you saying I got fat?" he finally choked out, and it sounded so thin and so un-Boyd that she didn't know what to make of it.

Oh dear. Was it any easier to answer this question truthfully for a man than it was for a woman?

Definitely, Grace decided, not.

"Well...it has been 13 years...and...well...you've also gotten 13 years...older." Oh, bloody hell, this was going from hell into purgatory. "And it's quite natural that you...aren't as...trim...as in your forties."

If only this torture could end...

"So I'm old and I'm fat. Great!" He groaned and heavily, but, as she noticed with an inward sigh of relief, very theatrically slumped down on the bed.

The cracking of his knee joints unfortunately paid testament to the fact that 60 wasn't very far off for him. Grace decided to keep that part as far away as possible from any further conversation. Dropping down to her knees in front of him, which considering that she had a few years on him was the opposite of joy, she squeezed his thighs and gave him a smile.

"I prefer to call it massive, you know." He rolled his eyes, silently asking how that was any better, but she shook her head. "Thin and lanky doesn't suit you, Peter. All that ego of yours needs a body to be housed in."

"You're not funny, Grace."

Her smile widened into a small laugh. "I wasn't planning to be. Besides...I don't really like them thin. I like to have something to hold onto."

His hands began to wander, proving that he had a thing for the hands-on approach as well, but she tutted and with a mighty groan, and the use of his knees as an anchor, pushed herself up again.

"Stop procrastinating, Peter. Either try that damn thing on or call the tailor for a measuring appointment. It's February already and I'm sure the tailors have a little more to do until late April than making you a new one."

"That's it?" he asked, pulling out the little boy expression again.

"I'll make dinner, or are you on a no-food diet now?"

Ducking from the shoe that flew after her, she quickly made her way downstairs.

* * *

They had agreed to meet at the ballroom, which had something to do with the three monkey route, but also the fact that he had been an excessively grumpy bear over the last few days, complaining about the cost of the new one, especially since he probably would never wear it after tonight.

If Grace was honest, after seeing the sum on the check, she did agree. But it was all for the occasion and he was still on probation and they better tried to make a good impression and all that crap. The street party at her place sounded much more pleasant and she'd have loved to be there and do a lot of cooking beforehand, and then talk Eve and Spence into joining them. Boyd would have been a given, no way he could have gotten out of it.

He would have complained, of course, but in comparison, it would have been a walk in the park.

Eve was handing the valet the car keys and then joined her on the curb, pulling her shawl tighter around her. "Typical," she grumbled. "Today of all days it has to turn chilly."

Grace shrugged, adjusting her shawl as well. Not only for the cold, but like Eve she had gone for the full works. Unlike Eve, however, she planned on turning the revealing into a bit of a show. She had - wordlessly - promised Boyd incentive. A look in the mirror had shown it was incentive alright. If he was willing...and on his best behaviour, of course.

The man would arrive with Spencer, which was all good and well because really, she hoped that had given him time to get rid of most of his grump potential for the night. It was a posh reception on a national holiday - which luckily had gone off without a hitch and was now giving the media all over the world months of gossip fodder - with required evening dress or dress uniform. And Grace wasn't above a little shallowness. Peter Boyd in full dress uniform?

Seriously?

A tug from Eve forced her to move, and once inside, Grace gave up her shawl a little reluctantly.

"Wow."

Staring at Eve a little uncomprehendingly, Grace shook her head. "What?"

"When you said incentive, you meant exactly that. That's,..." The scientist paused and admiringly took in her colleague's get-up. "...That's seriously stunning." Stepping closer, she whispered, "You'll have to beat them off with a stick and whether that improves Boyd's mood...I'm not sure."

Grace laughed, fully aware that the dress made sure every move was visible. "This...is only part of the incentive."

Eve held up a hand in an eternal gesture of "I don't want to know", then dragged the profiler further into the room.

Upon entering, Grace groaned. "Oh, spare me."

"What?"

"That song. LOBO. Do you know how tenaciously Boyd can ridicule that song?"

"No...," Eve replied carefully. "And I don't really want to know."

"Keeps claiming it's only for weaklings. No real man would ever fall off his chair seeing a woman. It's all just sappy and stupid."

"I see." Eve grinned while listening to the lyrics of the song. "And probably it's impossible seeing 'the want' in another person's eyes."

"Unless you are in the middle of sex, which would make this song pornographic..."

Both women groaned in unison thinking of that particular statement.

"He really has no romantic bone in his body, does he?"

Grace grinned. "He has his moments."

At this Eve chuckled, though her chuckles slowly died away as she spotted Boyd and Spencer across the room. And if Boyd's fixed stare was any indication, he was just having one of those moments. And even though Eve didn't really want to think in that direction, she had to admit he looked rather spiffy in his new dress uniform.

Receiving no further comment from her side, Eve turned to look at Grace and bit down on her lip to keep her wide grin in check. Across the room, Spencer looked down, a little embarrassed as usual.

Despite discretion and Met politics, they weren't really subtle about it.

Like being pulled closer together by magnets, they moved through the room, meeting in the middle, though Boyd made a short stop at the music station, requesting something.

"Enjoying yourself?" Grace asked with a mischievous grin.

"Enjoying the view." The direction of his gaze, height difference sort of forced that, gave a clear indication of which part exactly he was enjoying.

She rolled her eyes, but it was tempered by a fond smile as he slipped his hands around her waist in a blatant gesture of ownership. Throwing a quick look around the room, he checked whether the message had reached every man in the room. The rest better heard it through the grapevine before they even made the attempt.

"I promised you incentive." She pulled his attention back to her, only her raised eyebrow showing that she had noticed this display of territoriality as well. She'd never let him know, of course, but she did enjoy that.

"And I promised you a dance, I believe, Grace."

"So you did. So...Oh no." She groaned as the song ended and a new one began. Only it was a repeat of the previous.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end it wasn't necessary. She really was leaps and bounds smarter than he was.

"Why?"

Instead of a direct answer, he mouthed along with the words of the song. _"When I saw you standing there/I about fell off my chair."_

It was probably the sappiest thing he - or any other man for that matter - had ever said to her, but quite frankly, Grace Foley, hailed forensic profiler, had her arms full of a sexy man in full dress uniform for whom she had dressed up to the nines, and who would take her home tonight and put himself meticulously to the task of getting her out of her dress.

What did sap really matter?


End file.
